


5 moments the men saw between nixon and speirs they weren't supposed to

by coupe_de_foudre



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: 5 Times, Canon Era, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Secret Relationship, soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: “Hey,” Nixon prompted, grabbing Speirs' elbow and pulling harsh enough to get the captain to look his way, “it wasn't your fault. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	5 moments the men saw between nixon and speirs they weren't supposed to

**Author's Note:**

> if you came here from [tumblr](https://a-beautiful-struggle-of-life.tumblr.com/) then you already probably know i'm complete and utter ronnix trash. if not, then hi, let me introduce you to my new favourite ship!
> 
> honestly i'm just a sucker for badass boyfriends being soft with each other and that's pretty much exactly what this fic is

Babe hadn't meant to eavesdrop, really he hadn't, but he'd been walking through one of the houses in Haguenau in search of extra bandages for Gene's supply when he'd heard a frustrated growl come from one of the rooms. He'd been about to investigate when Nixon strode past, cradling a steaming cup of coffee between his palms.

Nix shouldered his way into the room with ease, only barely kicking the door closed behind him and leaving a gap wide enough to reveal a long, oak table covered in papers and captain Speirs hunched over it. The CO had his hands braced on the wood, head hung low, the tension running through him unmistakable.

Babe inched closer, careful to keep himself out of sight, and watched as Nix walked right up to Speirs and placed the coffee in front of him. He pressed a hand to the small of Speirs' back then, bending to meet his eyes. “Would you just relax for one second?”

Speirs snapped up at that, shaking Nix’s touch away and prodding at his chest. “Relax?” His voice was gravelly, thick with the strong desire to sleep and unspent anger. “How am I supposed to relax, Lew? Lipton's sick, the boys are worn thin, we're supposed to be moving again in a few days. Oh, and we're still losing men, in case you haven't noticed?”

“Hey, that's not fair!” Nix snarled, “I have been trying my damn best, okay? You think it's easy, huh? Having to relay Sink's dumb fucking orders to you lot and watch as it falls to pieces?” He pushed at Speirs' shoulder, not enough to cause him to stumble. “You think I enjoy that?”

There's a pause. Silence hung heavy in the air. Babe didn't dare breathe in case he gave away his position.

And then Speirs did the unthinkable. “I'm sorry.” He slid his gaze to his feet, fringe falling over his face. Nix sighed, that same tenderness from when he first came in back, only tenfold, as he reached forward to tuck the stray hairs back behind Speirs' ear, fingers ghosting down the side of the man's cheek as he coaxed his eyes up again. Speirs’ eyes fluttered closed for only a second as he leans into the gentle touch before snapping out of it, straightening his back again, face stoic.

“Hey,” Nixon prompted, grabbing Speirs' elbow and pulling harsh enough to get the captain to look his way, “it wasn't your fault. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Speirs frowned, his signature glare directed Nix's way once more. He didn't pull his arm free. “The boys deserve a competent CO. I come along and they lose not one, but two good men.” He scoffed, shaking his head as his eyes fell to the floor. “Men.” the word is spat out like poison, “They were barely old enough to drink.”

Nixon sighed, fond and exasperated, as he moved his hand to hook two fingers under Speirs’ jaw and guide his face upwards again. “It wasn't your fault.” he repeated.

Speirs’ shoulders sagged and he dropped his head forward, collapsing into Nix with the exhaustion of a man tasked with carrying the weight of the world. “I wish I could've done something.”

Fingers carded through Speirs' hair – hair that had been unusually void of gel for the past few days, left loose to sag over his eyes and stick up at unruly angles – and Nix pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of the man's head. “I know."

It was remarkable; Nix didn’t string together false reassurances, didn’t attempt to fill Speirs with unwarranted hope...didn't do much really, yet it worked. Speirs relaxed against him, closing his eyes and shifting until his face was buried into the crook of Nix's neck, inhaling deeply. It was a whole other side of their CO that Babe had never witnessed before, a side to him that Babe hadn't even considered might have existed. All he (and the rest of Easy) saw was the harsh exterior Speirs put on for them: strong, commanding, reliable.

Babe supposes, now, that it had been foolish to think war couldn't touch a man like Speirs.

War touched them all.

Nixon clearly knew. He saw right through that show of strength and was brave enough to reach out. Brave enough to help Speirs carry the weight. 

Wrapping his arms around Speirs’ middle, pulling him closer and resting his head atop of the man's own, Nix murmured something into the quiet of the room that Babe couldn't catch.

Whatever it was, Speirs chuckled into Nix's throat and slipped his arms around his waist with a content sigh.

Figuring he'd overstayed his welcome, Babe quietly edged away from the door, taking one last glance at the scene of the two officers embracing – they made a strangely sweet picture; a snapshot of peace in the middle of a living nightmare. With a private smile of his own, Babe headed down the hallway in the hopes of finding some bandages.

“It's not exactly Vat 69 but-” Speirs' voice floated down the narrow hallway of the house and David stopped, wondering what had cut him off. There was a breathy chuckle and David wasted no time in backtracking his last few steps to peek into the room reserved for the officers' meetings. Winters was out doing rounds checking on the boys and, besides, David only knew of one Easy man that had such particular taste.

As expected, he found Nixon stood in the room with Speirs, the both of them leant against the desk tucked away by the far wall.

Speirs held out a crystal whisky tumbler. It looked brand new. 

Nixon smiled ever so slightly, fingers curling around Speirs' wrist as he took the offered glass from his hand. “It's gorgeous.” he says, eyes steady on Speirs. David feels like he's missing something when Speirs laughs in response, though it's more a sharp exhale of breath rather than an actual laugh, and ducks his gaze away for a split second before looking back up.

“You deserve it.” he said, voice nothing more than a gentle whisper.

Nix smiled, brighter this time, as he set the glass by another. He picked up a bottle left on the desk and gestured it towards Speirs with a suggestive brow. “Got time for a drink, captain?” Speirs rolled his eyes but nods and Nixon barks out a laugh before pouring them both two fingers of whisky. “Feels like I haven't seen you in days.”

Speirs huffs, taking the drink when it's offered his way and swirling the golden liquid once before knocking it back.

“Easy there, tiger.” 

“Shut it,” Speirs grumbled, reaching for the bottle in Nix's hand, “Come on! Share.”

“Ah, ah,” Nix chuckled, wagging a finger in front of Speirs' face, “can't have you getting drunk on me now.”

“Oh, please, like you're not always drunk.”

Nix gasped, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Cheap shot!”

Speirs smirked, leaning closer. “Bite me.”

Even David didn't miss the way Nixon’s eyes dropped to the dip of Speirs' throat, covered by a thick scarf. 

Instead of retorting with an equally snarky comment, Nixon returned the bottle to the desk before lifting his hand up to Speirs' jacket, deft fingers smoothing out the creases of his lapels. He paused halfway through fixing Speirs' collar, fingertips hovering over the sliver of skin exposed beneath his scarf, and steps closer – the distance between them now reduced to near nothing. When he spoke again, Nix's voice is barely above a whisper, “Don’t tempt me.”

The tension in the air was palpable. 

That was until, in the blink of an eye, Speirs swiped the bottle from behind Nixon and pours a good portion of whisky into his empty tumbler. Nixon laughed, pushing at Speirs' chest when he lifts the glass to his lips with a smug smirk and takes a step back. “God, you're such a little shit.”

Speirs hummed in agreement, swallowing his mouthful before, and David honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing, he booped Nix on the nose. Nixon made an affronted noise, gaping in disbelief before a smile broke out across his face. 

“Oh,” he laughed, shaking his head, “you are so dead!”

Speirs was already walking away, finished drink left next to Nixon's untouched one, a smile of his own dancing over his face. He held one hand out in a half-hearted attempt of surrender, “Sorry, Dick needs to see me.”

Nix groaned, but his smile hadn't budged. “Damn Dick, always ruining my fun.” He pointed meaningfully at Speirs as the man continued to back out of the room. “After.” It's a demand, not a request.

Speirs takes it as such, nodding once before spinning on his heel, “You got it.”

David thought fast as Speirs approached the door, grateful for his training as he's able to silently run a good few feet away from the room. He was even more relieved when he all but collided with Malarkey and Grant as he rounded the corner.

“Christ, Web, look where you're going!” Malarkey grumbled, steadying himself.

“Sorry.”

Footsteps grew louder behind him and David wondered briefly if anybody would be able to tell how fast his heart was pounding. 

Speirs passed by them, nodding politely. “Boys.”

“Sir.” the three of them chorused in reply. David kept his eyes on his feet until the man disappeared out of sight.

Grant cast him a strange look and Malarkey hit him not so gently on the arm as they start to head down the hallway. “What's got you all flustered?”

David scoffed, smiling to himself as he glanced back into the room Speirs just left on their way by and saw Nix admiring the tumbler Speirs had given him. He shook his head at his friends.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“The CO's sick, sir.” Joe spoke up, straightening only half-heartedly as Nixon rounded the corner leading to the room shared by Speirs and Lipton. “Strictly no visitors. His orders, not mine.” 

Nix smiled, ruffling his hair as he passed. “You're a good little watchdog, Lieb.”

Joe flushed, “I'm not-”

“That being said,” Nix smirked, hand already on the door, “I'm going in whether the captain wants to see me or not.”

Joe supposed he couldn't really argue with that so he simply nodded, propping himself back onto the table abandoned in the hallway that he'd been using as a makeshift chair. “Don't say I didn't warn you, sir.” Nixon chucked, slipping into the room with a wink. The door slowly swung shut behind him, not enough force to close it completely.

Speirs had asked for Joe specifically to ‘stand guard’ outside his room whilst he rested. The captain had been coming down with something all week, and with Lip now recovered (to some extent, anyway) he had been advised to take a break. Well...maybe forcefully tricked into it would be a better way to describe how Lipton had managed to convince Speirs to leave the men for even so little as a day - perhaps payback for all the mothering he'd had to withstand from the captain himself. 

Joe had to admit, he'd gained more respect for the sergeant after that – not that he hadn't already loved Lipton; the man gave out nothing but love and care.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me!” Speirs' muffled complaint could be heard from out in the hallway and Joe snickered, leaning slightly to his left to get a peek inside the room. He couldn't make out much but, from what he could see, Speirs was laying face-down on the one bed of the room whilst Nixon stood to the edge.

“Well that's not the greeting I expected.”

Speirs twisted his face, allowing himself to speak clearer, “Didn't Liebgott tell you no visitors?”

Nixon slowly lowered himself to his knees, now level with Speirs' eyeline. “That he did. I figured I was exempt from the rule.”

A scoff escaped Speirs. “On what grounds?” Joe couldn't see Nixon's face, but he must have done something because Speirs sighed, relenting. “Fine. Whatever. Stay.” His voice was unusually soft on that last word, whether it was down to the exhaustion or something else Joe wasn't sure.

“I intend to,” Nixon spoke quietly, hand reaching out to brush matted locks from Speirs' face. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “Christ, you're burning up!”

Speirs tugged the blanket thrown lazily over his body closer to himself, tucking his chin into the material. “Cold.” He let out a contented sigh as Nixon stroked through his hair, smoothing the slight curls out and running a thumb over the crease of his brows. “Head hurts.”

“Another migraine?” Nix asked, worry laced in his voice. Speirs nodded. “Well it just so happens that I am the master of curing hangovers.”

“’s not a hangover.” Speirs slurred, eyes fluttering closed as he moved his head into Nixon's touch like an attention starved cat.

“No,” Nixon chuckled softly, “you didn't even get to have the fun part of being drunk first.” Speirs made a breathy sound that may have been a weak attempt at a laugh. “I do, however, still know how to make a magical drink that might heal you. Or, your head at least. The fever will have to be tackled on it's own.”

Speirs blinked his eyes open, “I don't believe in magic.”

Nix laughed. “Of course you don't.”

Speirs frowned then, making a move to sit up before he was carefully pushed back by Nixon. He flopped back onto the mattress with a huff. “Don't you have things to do?”

Nix shook his head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and reaching out for one of Speirs’ hands. Speirs let him, entwining their fingers without a moment's hesitation. Joe frowned, wondering what exactly he was witnessing.

“I told Dick I was taking the night off.” Nix explained, smiling down at Speirs. “He didn't seem to care, said I could use the sleep.” His laughter was bitter.

“You could.” Speirs pointed out.

Nix poked him in the chest. “Hey, you're the sick one today. Which means it's my job to take care of you.”

“The boys...”

Nixon sighed, free hand reaching to rest his palm over Speirs' cheek, tracing the outline of his jaw in an action so similar to how he studies a map. “The boys will be fine.” he reassured, “They'd much rather miss you for a day or two rather than lose you forever.”

“I'm not _that_ ill.”

“Well you could still benefit from a good night's sleep. No duties.” He lifted the hand clasped in Speirs', pressing a lingering kiss to the man's knuckles all without breaking eye contact. “You've already done so much for everyone, let me do this for you.”

Speirs didn't outwardly agree but he didn't push Nixon away either. Nix didn't seem fazed; smiling gentler than before as he laid a palm over Speirs' chest. Speirs grumbled, pulling his other hand down to brush it over his face, eyes closed once more. There was the hint of a smile dancing over his lips. 

“I'll go make you that drink.” Nix said, patting Speirs' cheek. As he slipped off of the bed, Speirs whined deep in his throat and reached out to him. 

It's a sound Joe's never heard from his CO, never thought he would ever hear, and he found himself empathising with the man; he must really not be well. Joe hasn't had many headaches, let alone migraines, so he can't imagine what sort of pain Speirs must be in. And that's without accounting for the cold, too.

Nixon hesitated, playfully ruffling Speirs' hair once more. “Oh, kitten,” he whispered, pure longing evident in his tone and leaving Joe breathless, “I'll be as quick as possible. Promise.”

Speirs blinked up at him, looking younger by the minute in this vulnerable state. Suddenly Joe got the feeling that he shouldn't be watching, but he couldn't drag himself away. 

“You'll stay?” There's another meaning behind the question, Joe's sure of it, but only Nix seems to understand. With a warm smile, Nixon bent down and pressed a soft kiss to Speirs' sweat-slicked forehead. 

“Of course.”

With that, Nixon spun on his heels and begun to head back out of the room. Joe quickly leant away from the crack in the door, swinging his legs and purposefully looking in the opposite direction.

“Get me water?” Speirs croaked out as Nix pulled the door open. 

Nixon chuckled, “Anything for you.” It's said in a playful tone, meant to be heard as a tease, but Joe suspects there's a more sincere meaning behind the words. As he passed Joe again, Nix patted him on the shoulder and shot him a bright smile. “Nobody goes in there.” He gestured back towards the room, quirking a brow at Joe. It felt like a challenge. Of what, Joe was afraid to find out.

He nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

“Attaboy.”

Dick hummed quietly to himself as he strolled down the street, unbothered by the current downpour of rain. It was late by now, his meeting with Sink having run long, and no doubt most of the men would be in their temporary rooms resting. He knew his closest friends would be back in the house he was staying in, having their nightly game of poker. He didn't really mind missing out; he wasn't much of a gambler and, besides, Harry could be a pretty sore loser. 

He was preparing himself to walk in on whatever argument four semi-drunk officers could conjure up over an originally innocent game of poker when his eyes caught on a familiar figure storming down the street in the opposite direction he was headed. Nix.

He had his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, head hung low as water streamed down his hair. After years of getting to know the man, Dick had become well versed in the body language of Lewis Nixon. Which meant it wasn't hard for him to understand that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Lewis was annoyed, perhaps even frustrated, and that was made even more achingly clear by the way he smacked his hand to a nearby wall, not even wincing as skin scraped exposed brick. He was shaking, fingers going to rake through his drenched hair, and Dick felt awful.

Desperately wanting to help him, he made a move to cross the road, his friend's name on the tip of his tongue ready to shout out over the thunderous rain. He was cut short, stopped in his tracks, when the very words he was about to say were already echoing down the street from the direction Nix had come from.

“Lewis!” It's sharp and demanding and nothing short of frightening. Dick knew instantly who that tone belonged too, although he's surprised to hear it aimed at Nix. Even more surprised when Lew completely ignores it in favour of speeding up his steps.

Nobody ignored Ronald Speirs.

Out of the dark, as though he was one with the shadows, jogged Ron. He didn’t have his jacket on, his shirt loosely tucked into his pants, top buttons undone – clearly he came straight from the game. He caught up with Lew easily, grabbing him by the elbow and spinning him in one swift movement. Nix stumbled, either drunk or taken by surprise (or perhaps both) but steadied himself before he had a chance to fall.

“Get the fuck off of me!” he spat, loud enough that Dick could hear him from across the street. Ron did as he said, arm falling limp to his side. 

Nix said something else then, the angry bite of his voice evident in the way he held himself tight. Dick couldn't quite make out what was being said now but he still caught the way Nix jabbed at Ron's chest, getting up in his face in a way he himself has experienced enough times. 

Lew got like that sometimes, usually when he hasn't had a decent drink in too long, so Dick can only assume he wasn't drunk right now. Normally, in these times, Dick would leave Nix alone to calm down.

What he can't seem to understand, is how Ron just takes it. The man stood there, letting Nix shout at him and push him about without once retaliating. 

Dick may not know Ron as much as he does Lew, but he knows for a fact that Ron isn't one to take any type of abuse. Not from his men or from the officers.

Then again, it's not like any of them make a habit of turning on Ron. Everyone seems to know better than that.

Apparently not Lewis, for he went to swing his fist straight at Ron's face with the determination of a man in battle. It's hopeless. Dick's actually rather impressed with the speed in which Ron caught Lew's fist, not once flinching, his own hand encasing Lew's and holding it inches from his face with a steady glare. 

Lew faltered. Dick is unsure whether he's going to give up the fight or carry it on and he's ready to jump in to break it up, fully expecting the situation to turn ugly any second now.

For all his experience, both in dealing with a fired up Nix and in handling tense moments, Dick would never have anticipated Ron's next move. Rather than shouting back, or even throwing a punch of his own, Ron merely tugged Lew's arm harshly until the man stumbled forward, crashing their bodies together. Lew struggled against him, hitting weakly at Ron's chest as his muffled curses fill the air. 

Ron had the patience of a saint, wrapping strong arms around Lew in what could only be described as a bear hug, pressing his chin over Lew's head as the man slowly relaxed into the touch and buried his face deep into the crook of Ron's neck. The atmosphere shifted abruptly, gone from the tension that hangs uncomfortably in the air before a fight breaks out to something softer, something that feels intimate and comforting. 

Finally, Lew sagged completely against Ron, the fight seeping out of him as it's washed away by the rain gliding down his back. Dick couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Then Ron dipped his head, saying something to Lew that had the man in his arms shaking with faint, yet unmistakable, laughter. They both appeared unbothered by the rain, Ron still only in a shirt that is now undoubtedly soaked through. He made no move to leave, didn't even seem to care. It's all so incredibly uncharacteristic for the usually prim and proper man – though maybe Dick just doesn’t know him as well as he thinks he does. Then again, watching how Lew leaned into Ron and clung to the back of his shirt like his life depended on it, perhaps Dick doesn't even know his closest friend as well as he thought he did.

Lew must have said something then because Ron suddenly threw his head back in a boisterous laugh, face turned up to the rain and a smile spread across his usually expressionless face, and Dick was taken aback by the sound; it's laced with happiness, a pure joy that he's not once heard from the man before, and the fact that Lew was the reason for it causes a pang in his chest. 

He didn't dwell on what that might mean.

As he brought his head down again, Ron angled his face to brush a fleeting kiss over Lew's hair quick enough that Dick thought he imagined it.

Neither man seemed to plan on moving any time soon and, by now, the cold has begun to settle deep in Dick's bones. With a sigh, he picked his feet back up and headed down the street once more, not crossing the road until he's certain the two men wouldn't notice him. As he reached the house, he paused by the doorway and cast one last glance behind him to find them both still embracing, temporarily oblivious to the world as they focused on one another. He smiled to himself, pushing the door open and stepping into the inviting warmth.

“Hey, Dick!” Harry greeted with a lazy smile when he walked by, shoes squelching with the water clogging them up. “You missed the game.”

The table was scattered with empty bottles and cards. Lip was mindlessly shuffling money in his hand as he smiled up at him. “It was a bust anyway,” he laughed, “Nix stormed out mid-way and I'm pretty sure Ron left to go find him.”

“Probably to stop him from wrecking havoc on the town.” Harry chuckled, taking a swig of his drink.

Dick hummed, skirting around the table in the direction of his room further back. “Yeah, probably.” He figured it was best not to mention what he saw.

“I'm going to go see where they got to.” Harry told Lip, pushing his chair back and getting up from the table. They'd been waiting on Lew and Ron to start their game but the two had yet to show. 

Lip looked up from the book he'd picked up. “I wouldn't.” he warned. Harry scoffed, draining the last of his drink – the first of the night, thankfully, so he could still walk straight.

He waved his hand dismissively at Lip and begun to head for the stairs where he knew Nixon’s room was, since that was where it seemed like the two had been heading when they hurried upstairs almost an hour earlier. Harry had just assumed Nix was getting Ron some of his precious whisky.

He still couldn't believe Nix was actually sharing it with anybody, even if that person did seem to only be Ron.

Harry made it to the second floor before realising he wasn't actually sure which room was Lew's. It didn't help that all the doors where shut.

“ _Fuck-_ ” a familiar groan, guttural and strained, echoing down the hallway, led him to a room with a door that had a fist-shaped hole punched through the wood. Unfortunately, the hole didn't break through the door so Harry couldn't check who was inside.

Luckily for him, the next voice that spoke was unmistakably Ron. “Shut-” Another groan resonated from inside, followed by the bang of something wooden slamming against the wall. “Up.”

There was a gasp, breathy and loud, and a dangerous sounding creak. It sounded like a struggle of some sort and Harry was all too aware of how aggressive the two men could get at times. With the worry that his two friends were somehow caught up in a brawl with one another (it wasn't an unlikely thought, considering they were all on edge), he burst into the room fully intent on breaking the fight up.

What he was faced with upon his sudden entry made him stop him his tracks, mouth agape. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for walking in on two of his closest friends in such a compromising position.

Instead of one of them being thrown up against a wall, punches flying and harsh insults being spat out between them, Ron was hovered over Lew who was lying on the bed, one hand clinging to the headboard and the other fisted tight in the rumpled covers. Covers which barely covered Ron's ass, only just shielding that view from Harry's eyes.

A cry escaped his mouth before he could think better of it, immediately giving away his position (since the noise already being generated in the room had clearly not allowed them to hear him rip the door open). 

With a stuttered slam of his hips, Lew moaning wantonly despite the fact that he had now locked panicked eyes with Harry, Ron whipped his head around. The look on both of their faces was a perfect blend of frustration and concern. Obviously Harry wasn't supposed to have known about....whatever this was, let alone actually witness it.

“Shit,” Harry held his hands up, one covering his eyes, as he stepped backwards out of the room, “I'm sorry.”

“Harry, wait-” Lew's throat sounded raw, voice worse than when he used to smoke twenty plus a day. 

“No, no,” Harry stammered out, removing his hand to pull the door shut and not missing how Lew had his legs wrapped tightly around Ron's waist, “C-carry on.” The door clicked shut.

He's fairly certain he heard Ron laugh and then yelp after Lew presumably slapped him. Harry groaned, scrubbing at his eyes as though that would somehow remove the image from his mind forever.

It wouldn't.

He would have to live with the knowledge that he'd seen Lewis and Ron having sex for the rest of his life.

With that mildly unsettling realisation, Harry wasted no time in hurrying back downstairs to where Lip was still sat. He grumbled to himself about naked officers as he helped himself to one of Nix's stolen wine bottles – he owed him – and drunk straight from the bottle.

From his seat, Lipton snorted into his own drink, splashing liquid over his book in the process. Harry pointed an accusatory finger at Lip, “You knew, didn't you?”

Lip tried to school his expression into something that resembled innocence but failed. “Knew what?”

Smacking him upside the head, Harry dropped unceremoniously into his own seat. “Y'know what.”

Lipton sighed, pushing his book away. “I might have known, yeah.”

“How?"

With a shrug, Lip said, “They seem to be under the impression that I'm a heavy sleeper.” He gave Harry a pointed look. “I'm not. Even when I have pneumonia.”

Harry remembered when Lip was ill, and how he and Ron had shared a room at the time. Even for him, it didn't take long for him to piece together what Lip was implying. “No! They didn't?”

Lip chuckled, nodding. “They did.”

“Christ,” he shook his head, taking another gulp of wine and grimacing at the bitter taste, “I'd have thought they'd be more careful than that.”

“Well, in their defence, they managed to keep it hidden for a rather long time.”

“How long, exactly?” Harry asked, leaning forward with intrigue. He was always a sucker for gossip, even if it was about his friends' love life.

Lipton hummed thoughtfully, “I haven't actually asked them, I don't think they know that I know, but I'd say it's been going on since Toccoa.”

“Toccoa?”

Lipton nodded. “Once you know what to look for, you start to notice things you missed.”

“Huh,” Harry tried to think back to the few times he'd seen Ron and Lew interact over their time together and came to the jarring realisation that Lip was right. Maybe they'd just all been oblivious because it was so unexpected. If anything, Harry would've placed bets on Lew and Dick hooking up. “I can't believe they didn't tell us!”

Lipton laughed, picking his book up again. “It's hardly the sort of conversation to have in the middle of a war.”

“Still,” Harry pouted, “it would’ve preserved my innocence.”

Although, he supposed it was quite sweet that they had both had each other throughout this terrible war. Everybody deserved somebody to love.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> please go spread love on [this](https://thunderbird-pilot.tumblr.com/post/633810931064897536/just-a-quick-sketch-for) adorable ronnix fanart, inspired by this fic (eek!)
> 
> any feedback is always greatly appreciated! tysm for reading <3


End file.
